


Withered Flowers

by CrystalKnix



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ;-;, Angst, Bad Ending, Blood, Chapter 3 is the worst part of this fic and I fear what I've done, Dark, Fundy get drugged guys, Fundy is not happy in this fic and neither am I happy writing this, Graphic Violence, Hurt No Comfort, I APOLOGIZE, I'm so sorry Eret, Insane Wilbur Soot, Kidnapping, M/M, also uh the fundywastaken relationship tag here doesn't really play out until the end?, and it's not the focus - Freeform, oh i am in misery, this is just pain central right here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalKnix/pseuds/CrystalKnix
Summary: (Alternatively titled, never dare your friend to give you a dark prompt. This was a mistake oh gosh---)Fundy hasn't seen his father in years.He now wished it stayed that way.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 90
Kudos: 233





	1. The Black Snapdragon

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Kidnapping and Fundy gets drugged by Wilbur.
> 
> This is gonna be the darkest fic I ever write and this is why you don't dare your friends to give you dark prompts. Oh this is not gonna be happy. Pls take note of the warnings cause this is not gonna be a good story ;-; This is one prompt but because of the extent of the prompt, I'm writing three chapters of misery.
> 
> Just to clarify, Schlatt is good here and Fundy was never a spy.
> 
> Anyway... stay safe folks and I apologize for this fic. PLS READ THE TAGS THIS IS MY FINAL WARNING.

His footsteps reverberated across the desolate wooden path, his form shivering at the damp and dark expanse of the man-built cave. His head was abuzz with worry and a guilt, every step forward felt as if he walking towards his own demise. His hands were sticky with sweat and cement residue, a hint to what he had done in the day. He swallowed down the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat, the stench of fear palpable in the air as he made his way into the pitiful abode of his father.

"Hello?" His voice was soft, a low whisper that still bounced off the chipped stone walls. The stairs groaned beneath his weight, his tail low to the ground as his ears were tightly pressed to the top of his head. His gold-speckled brown eyes scanned the seemingly empty ravine, widening as he catches a glimpse of a silhouette standing in the mess that was Pogtopia. He takes a shaky step towards the figure, his hand shaking as he places one on the man's shoulder. "Wil— Dad?"

The shoulder beneath his fingers tenses, the man turning abruptly face him. Fundy sees the tinge of red on the man's hand, the mystery item disappearing into the folds of his trenchcoat. He sniffed at the air, the smell of gunpowder clinging to the tattered coat that Wilbur wore. Surprised brown eyes gazed down at him, a glint of an emotion Fundy couldn't name swirling in those dark precipesis. Wilbur's soot-covered hands hovered around Fundy's sides, his mouth agape in wonder and bewilderment.

"F-Fundy?" A cold calloused hand reached out to cup his cheek, that unrelenting stare scouring his entire being as if in fear that he was but an illusion. The man before him let out a small sob, an arm snaking behind his back to pull him into a tight embrace. Fundy couldn't help but tremble in his father's hold, a sinking feeling in his stomach yelled at him to run, to flee. He stayed where was, fearing what might happen if he dared pull away. "My son. My son. You're actually here. You're here... Safe. You're safe."

He patted Wilbur's back, confused at the man's cryptic words. "I missed you too, dad." Wilbur cried at that, pulling him further into his hold as a hand pressed his head into the crook of his father's neck. Fundy felt ash stain his cheek, a patch of gray on his father's skin that made him freeze in his tracks. Still, he hadn't seen his dad in years, his life deluded by the busy days of Schlatt's Administration. Though his senses screamed at him, he melted into the touch. "I missed you so much."

He heard Wilbur murmur something under his breath, a flurry of words that didn't quite reach Fundy's rapidly twitching ears. Their embrace ended, Wilbur holding him at arms length by his shoulders as he looked deep into Fundy's face. A smile was on the man's face, a contentment that Fundy never thought he'd see in his father's eyes. "I had hoped you'd find your way here. I couldn't sneak you out of Manburg— I tried to free you but I could never find you. Are you alright? Has Schlatt hurt you?"

Fundy tilted his head at the question, startled at the question. Wilbur gripped his shoulders gently, as if he was a fragile piece of glass that would shatter at any moment. "Dad... Schlatt hasn't hurt me. I don't understand where this concern is coming from..." Wilbur's gaze tracked his every moment - every twitch of his finger, intent on searching for a sign that he needed help. He wouldn't find it. "Dad, believe it or not, Schlatt's been doing a lot of good for the country. You've heard about the festival, right?"

"Of course I have..." Wilbur's voice quivered, a whisper that held too little emotion within it. Fundy watched as Wilbur took in the black-tailored suit that fit perfectly onto him, the red tie that proudly showed on his collar. Fundy had recently come from a meeting, sneaking out the moment he realized Schlatt would be busy in his office for the entirety of the day. Schlatt was a nice man, caring and genuinely interested in the betterment of Manburg, but he was quite protective over those within the cabinet, especially towards Fundy and Tubbo. Fundy smiled at the memory of Schlatt nearly having a heart attack each time he or Tubbo would do anything reckless. "Fundy... Why are you wearing a suit? Why are you wearing _his_ suit?"

“Um... I just got back from a meeting, dad.” He felt that terrible urge to run again, that gleam in his father’s eyes sending a shiver of fear down his spine. He didn’t understand. Why would he? This was his dad. HIS DAD. Wilbur had never been unkind to him, had never raised a hand at him. Then why did every part of him scream at him to run? Fundy shook his head, wincing as he felt Wilbur’s grip tighten on his shoulders. Wilbur was just stressed. That was all. He forced a smile on his face, hoping that Wilbur wouldn’t take his clothes so personally. It was just a suit, after all. Wilbur’s gaze was fixed on his red tie, almost as if he wanted to tear it off of him. Fundy trembled, “Dad...? Are you okay? Do you really hate suits that much? It’s... It doesn’t mean anything, dad. It’s just a suit━”

“It’s _his_ suit.” Wilbur shoved him away, eyes narrowing dangerously as he turned to head further into the ravine. Fundy bit his bottom lip, wondering if that was his cue to leave. He swallowed down his cowardice and followed after Wilbur, eyes taking in the beautiful yellow lanterns that hung above them. They casted eerie shadows on the walls as they headed deeper into the cold and damp cave. Fundy tugged at the sleeves of his suit jacket, wishing he had grabbed a sweater or a scarf before he went to visit his dad. His attention turned to the man before him, scared of the stranger that had stolen his father’s skin. Wilbur... Wilbur wasn’t this... Fundy didn’t know what it was that sent alarm bells in his mind, but this man wasn’t his dad. Wilbur paused and turned around abruptly, Fundy nearly falling into his open arms. He felt those dark brown eyes looking down at him, their murky surface piercing through his soul. “Why are you here, Fundy? Is this some sort of game you’re playing? Are you here to gain information? How did you even find this place? Did _he_ send you here?”

“What? Dad, no! I... Tubbo showed me the way to Pogtopia... I-I-I just missed you.” Fundy felt the edge of his lips tug down, his ears pressed close to the top of his head as his father’s questions ripped through his heart. His tail curled around his right leg, all semblance of joy dissipating as he took in the suspicion in his father’s eyes. Didn’t his own dad trust him? He glanced down towards the scuffed ground, biting back the tears that threatened to spill past his eyes. It only took a second before Wilbur pulled him back into an embrace, whispering apologies into his ear as a hand rubbed the back of his head. Fundy let himself be held, refusing to return the gesture even as Wilbur’s apologies began to devolve into simple _‘I’m sorry’s’_. “I thought I should give you a visit before the festival. I’m not really sure if I’ll ever see you again after that, so I just had to see you, even if it is for the last time.”

“Last time?” Wilbur’s voice was but a whisper, Fundy straining to even hear his father’s words. Wilbur’s hand had paused at the nape of his neck, startled into stillness. Fundy breathed in deeply, small tremors running through his fingers as he placed a shaky hand on Wilbur’s back. “What do you mean ‘last time’? Fundy, it’s only a matter of time before I get L’Manburg back.”

“Dad...” Fundy struggled out of the man’s grip, not missing the way Wilbur tried to pull him back in... as if he was scared to let him go. Wilbur looked at him, a broken look in his eyes that Fundy couldn’t help but feel guilty for. He put that look there, didn’t he? He shook his head, struggling to form the words he wanted to say. “I... Dad, I don’t think Schlatt’s ever going to let you back into Manburg.”

"Manburg..." There was a low growl in the way Wilbur had said it, his hands clenching into fists. Fundy shifted on his feet, averting his gaze as he felt those eyes scrutinize him once more. It felt like he had been caught sneaking out, like the old days where Wilbur was adamant he stayed within the suffocating walls of their country. Wilbur placed a shaky hand on his chin, tilting his head up as he forced Fundy to look him in the eyes. Fundy raised a hand to hold onto Wilbur's wrist, though he didn't wrench those prying fingers away from him. Wilbur's eyes were dangerously narrowed, a hint of a snarl on his lips. Fundy could only hope that it wasn't meant for him. His dad wasn't... He didn't seem quite right... There was something wrong. Fundy held his breath, fearful that any movement of his could be taken wrongly. "The revolution has just begun, my son. L'Manburg will be ours once more. Just give it time, Fundy."

“Dad... Overthrowing Schlatt would be... wrong.” Fundy clenched his right hand, his nails digging into the skin. The grip on his chin tightened, nearly bruising. He breathed in through his teeth, fearful of what Wilbur may do with every wrong word that came out of his mouth. He wished he had stayed in Manburg, wished he hadn’t tried to seek out a father he hadn’t seen in nearly two years. He whimpered, patting at Wilbur’s wrist. Wilbur didn’t let up, his eyes murky with emotion that Fundy realized - startled at how it took him so long - was insanity. He contemplated his next words, thinking about what could possibly allow him to leave this situation with his two remaining lives. He felt trapped beneath that horrible gaze. He forced out a laugh, “Dad... You’re kind of hurting my chin there, could you maybe let go? _Heh_.” 

Wilbur paused for a long time, lips set into a thin line as if he was _contemplating_ on doing just that. Slowly, Fundy felt those fingers leave, his chin aching that he worried he might actually gain a bruise. He didn’t need Schlatt to see him later and ask why he had a growing bruise on his face. Fundy gave Wilbur a soft smile, knowing that it probably looked more like a grimace.

“Fundy, you wouldn’t understand. Schlatt needs to be taken down, that’s the entire point of Pogtopia, Fundy!” Fundy flinched at the harsh tone, his ears twitching as the man began to ramble. “Schlatt is a tyrant. I know you think he’s doing good for L’Manburg and maybe he is. But I don’t care, Fundy. He doesn’t deserve to rule over L’Manburg. I don’t expect you to understand...”

There it was. Fundy forced down the growl that threatened to escape his lips, the yells that he wished to scream at the man he called his dad. Fundy cared for his dad, loved him even, but Wilbur was the one who didn’t understand. At least, he didn’t understand Fundy. On that faithful day, when he was forced to watch his dad be exiled from the only home they’ve ever known, he had sworn to himself to do anything within his power to bring his dad home. Then... Schlatt had given him something Wilbur could never show him, praise. Schlatt didn’t constantly coddle him or speak to him in a condescending and babyish tone. Sure, the man was protective at times, but he was never constricting. Fundy was given an actual job, a _respectable_ position, and a father figure that actually took the time to listen to him. He didn’t feel like a child who was forced to sit in the kiddie table while the adults talked in the other room. He was **_important_**.

“Dad, I came to spend my limited time with you.” Wilbur froze mid-walk, eyes snapping towards him. Fundy shook his head, casting away the resentment that ate at his bones. Wilbur loved him. He was never the best at showing it but Fundy knew Wilbur loved him. “I don’t want to talk to you about Pogtopia or Manburg, _er_ L’Manburg. Can I please just have my dad right now?”

“Oh, Fundy. You’re right.” Fundy nearly sighed in relief as Wilbur relaxed, that gleam in his eyes disappearing as he placed a placating hand on Fundy’s shoulder. Wilbur gave him a tired smile, gently leading him down towards one of the rooms. Fundy let himself led, ignoring the voices in his head that begged at him to run. “How long do you have with me?”

“The entire day. Schlatt has two stacks of paperwork to accomplish and Tubbo will be escorting him around the grounds in the afternoon so Schlatt could see the festival preparations.” Fundy snuggled up to Wilbur’s side, glad that his father held him closer. They both entered a small room, a makeshift kitchen tucked into the corner as a horribly thrown together table took up most of the room. Wilbur led him towards an unstable looking chair, Fundy laughing as the chair nearly toppled over in his haste to take a seat. Wilbur chuckled, running a hand through Fundy’s messy ginger hair. Fundy tapped his hands on the table, hoping that he didn’t accidentally break it. “We get to spend the whole day together. Yay!”

“You’ll have to leave after, don’t you?” Wilbur frowned, his eyes glazing over... not that Fundy noticed. Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to think about what Fundy had said a few moments prior.

“Yes... and I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again.” Fundy bit his bottom lip, wishing his voice didn’t crack at the end. Schlatt didn’t like Wilbur for some reason. Fundy had no doubt he wouldn’t see Wilbur for another two years.

“Okay... We’ll just have to make the most of our time then.” Fundy felt Wilbur’s hand stop at the top of his head, resting there for a few seconds before leaving. He frowned at the sudden loss of touch, though he refused to show how much it bothered him. Wilbur began to hum underneath his breath, walking towards the small kitchen in the corner. Fundy couldn’t see what Wilbur was doing as a large and wonky wooden wall blocked the view towards the kitchen. He could hear the bustle of movement from within the kitchen, the soft hymn of an old song drifting through the room. Fundy jumped, recognizing the old anthem of a country long gone. Fundy began to thrum his fingers at the edge of the table, wondering about how long he could stay in Pogtopia. Schlatt would be taking a stroll with Tubbo in the late afternoon. Would Schlatt notice his absence if he stayed with his dad for that long? He reached up towards his ears, tugging as he bit his bottom lip. Surely Schlatt wouldn’t notice, right? It wasn’t like Fundy ran around Manburg during the late afternoon. “Fundy, we only have potato stew... though I’m sure I could spare a bit of our steak supply... Would that be alright with you?”

Fundy felt a pang of guilt at that question. He placed a hand on his chest as he swiveled around in his chair, nearly falling to the ground in his haste to do so. He couldn’t see Wilbur in the kitchen, but he knew the man was there, no doubt looking through the chests. “Dad, I’m not really hungry. In fact, I ate on the way here. You should save your food supply. You wouldn’t want to starve, right?”

There was a long and heavy pause, one that made Fundy wish he hadn’t opened his mouth in the first place. He knew how terrible it was to hear those words, how it was an insult to Wilbur that he couldn’t even feed his own son, but Pogtopia needed every supply they had. Fundy didn’t support their revolution, but he didn’t want his dad to die from starvation. “At least... have some soup.”

“…Okay.” Fundy bit his bottom lip, the tip of his feet kicking at the hard ground beneath. How could he possibly refuse? His father looked like he hadn’t seen a week’s worth of sleep, and Fundy knew firsthand how… unstable Wilbur could be when he was exhausted. He remembered the first war of independence, the rare times where Wilbur would seemingly snap at the poor soul who had managed to catch his ire at the time. Of course, Wilbur would apologize the next day, saying he never meant a single scathing word that had escaped his lips the previous day. Fundy nodded his head at the small noises that arose from the kitchen, focusing his attention at the sound of liquid splashing onto a wooden bowl. Guilt gnawed at his heart, Wilbur really shouldn’t waste Pogtopia’s supplies on a… on a traitor like him. “So… potato soup… I guess the rumors are true. Uncle Tech― The Blade is here, in Pogtopia.”

“Your Uncle Techy is here, Funds. He and Tommy are out, something about sparring practice. You know how they are.” Fundy’s ear pricked up as he heard Wilbur emerge from the kitchen, turning to his head to watch as the man carried over a small bowl of soup. He felt his stomach growl, hoping to whatever deity that watched over them that Wilbur didn’t hear it. The soup was placed on the table, the wood creaking under the weight (Dre, how weak was this table―). Fundy glanced at the familiar concoction in front of him, large pieces of potato floating on the sludge that was meant to be soup. He remembered a time where his uncle had to convince him that, no, they weren’t trying to poison him. To an outsider, the soup might look inedible, but Fundy knew better. Dre… He hadn’t eaten potato soup in such a long time. He felt his lips quirk into a smile, fingers clutching the wooden spoon that Wilbur had provided him. “It might taste a bit stale.”

“You know you shouldn’t waste your supplies on me. You… You need this more than me, dad.”

“Eat your soup, Fundy. I don’t want my own son to starve.”

“Dad… Skipping one meal isn’t going to kill me.” He watched his dad tense up at the words, sighing as he finally ate a spoonful of the soup. The warm liquid burned at the back of his throat, tasteless and somehow spicy. Fundy frowned, glancing down at the soup for any sign of change. Clumps of potato stared back at him. He shook his head, pushing back his instinct to run. He ate another spoonful, aware of Wilbur’s heated gaze that followed his hand each time he dipped the spoon into the bowl to get more soup. Fundy winced as a tingling sensation began to numb his tongue. Wow. Was Wilbur experimenting or something? Fundy nearly laughed at the idea of Wilbur picking up other hobbies during his exile. “This is… This is something, dad. Did Tommy ask you to make the soup spicier than usual? I… uh… I can barely feel my tongue.”

“Change of recipe because Tommy threatened to burn down Pogtopia if we kept eating the same old soup for dinner.” They both chuckled at Tommy’s antics. Fundy leaned back in his seat, forcing down more soup despite the sudden nausea that encompassed his mind. Huh… was he always this tired? He rubbed a hand on his face, his forehead burning with a phantom fever. Wilbur watched him from across the table, lips pressed into a thin line. Fundy tried to focus on his father’s dark brown eyes. Were they always that dark? “Are you alright, Fundy? You look pale.”

“Hm…? I-I’m fine, dad.” His tail curled around him, a semblance of comfort. He tried to snap out of it. He was just… tired from decorating for the festival. “Must be the lack of… sleep.”

“Lack of sleep?” He heard the scrape of wood against cobblestone, a cool clammy hand pressed onto his forehead as his father’s figure appeared within his view. He flinched, wondering how he didn’t notice Wilbur approach him. He heard his dad tsk beneath his breath, a look of regret passing his eyes, though Fundy didn’t know why Wilbur would look at him with such guilt. He tried to move away, to stand up, but he found that he couldn’t. He took a shallow breath, trying to push down the panic rising in his chest. “How… How many hours of sleep have you been getting, son?”

He would have been indignant at the question if it weren’t for the dizziness that dulled his mind. Even Schlatt had told him to get more sleep, having noticed the fox hybrid’s insistence to decorate at ungodly hours of the night. Fundy couldn’t help it. The chill night air helped him think. His throat felt impossibly dry. What the _fuck_ was happening? “Uh… two hours. It’s fine, dad.”

“Is Schlatt forcing you to work?”

“What? Dad, no! You know I prefer to work at night.” Fundy blinked, dark splotches appearing in his vision. He could barely feel Wilbur’s arms holding him upright, his head abuzz with a confusing mist. He shook his head, regretting it as the world disappeared before his very eyes. He felt a rush of air against his cheek. A moment later, he found himself kneeling on the floor, his face pressed to the crook of Wilbur’s neck as a hand began to pet the back of his hair. His dulled instincts pitifully begged for him to run, whispering danger into every pore of his body. There was something wrong. He shivered in his father’s hold, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He wasn’t sick. No. No. No. This was something else. It had to be something else. He was perfectly fine this morning. He tried to force himself out of his father’s hold, managing to tilt his head so he could see into Wilbur’s gaze. “Dad… Wilbur, what did you― Dad… why―?”

“If I had known you were so sleep deprived, I wouldn’t have had to spike your soup. Though… you’re quite stubborn so this might have been for the best.” He froze at Wilbur’s admission. He didn’t even try to sugarcoat it. Fundy trembled in his father’s arms, hands pushing against Wilbur’s chest as he struggled to escape. Wilbur shushed him, whispering words of comfort as if consoling an outraged toddler. “It’s okay, Fundy. You’re safe here. With me. You don’t have to go back.”

Fundy couldn’t speak, frightened that he’d end up crying instead. He began to beat at his father’s chest, knowing deep down that he wasn’t really doing much damage. Wilbur began to hum, the hand at the back of Fundy’s hair forcing his head back into the crook of his father’s neck. Fundy closed his eyes, hoping that this was just a bad dream. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. “Just go to sleep, son. I’ll be here when you wake up. I won’t leave you this time. I promise.”

 _‘What happened to you, dad?’_ Fundy felt the claws of sleep tear at his mind.

“I’ll protect you this time, Fundy. I’ll protect you.”

Fundy felt his body turn numb, his thoughts falling into ruin.

He faints, his father’s caging hold the last thing he feels.


	2. Midnight Begonias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;-; oh gosh my timing is horrible—

There was a horrible ringing in his ears, a numb ache in his bones as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was a rough cloth thrown over him, a creaky bed beneath his form as he struggled to with his consciousness. Where was he? He blinked, nearly groaning as he forced himself to sit. The air felt humid, almost as if there wasn’t a semblance of fresh air in the room. He rubbed a hand through his face, his throat impossibly dry. This wasn’t home. He glanced at the crude stone walls, marks indented onto their surface as if someone had taken a pick and carelessly slammed it into them. The bed groaned as he shifted in his place, his fingers curling into the coarse blanket as if to cement him further into reality. He had a terrible feeling that he shouldn’t go back to sleep.

Fundy brought the fabric closer, smelling a familiar scent that had clung to it. Wilbur, along with the putrid smell of ash. He shivered, throwing the blanket to the other side of the bed. He was in Pogtopia. That was strange. He breathed in the dusty air, begging his memories to return to him as he surveyed the room. It was devoid of the basic human necessities, asides from the bed he had been placed onto. There was a door to his left, dim golden light filtering through the space beneath it. Dark shadows occasionally blocked out the light, as if there was movement on the other side.

He didn’t understand… but he knew he too exhausted to think further into his situation. He wanted to curl back into the bed, sleep until someone came to wake him for the day. He let out a yawn, eyes drooping as he threw the blanket over himself once more, lying back into the bed. His instincts screamed at him, begged for him flee into the comforts of Manburg. Fundy couldn’t understand his mind’s refusal to fall back into sleep. He was in Pogtopia. His father was outside… guarding his door perhaps. He was perfectly safe. Fundy scratched at the thin and dirty mattress, growling as slumber continued to escape his grasp. After a few seconds of turning and tossing, he sat up on the bed once more. Fundy ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He needed to remember. A part of him wanted to remember the events of the day. Fine. As usual, slumber refused to keep him in its warm embrace. He tossed the blanket across the room. He needed to think. He had to think.

“But sleep…” He groaned, shaking his head. “No. No sleep. Need thoughts.”

He scoured through the haze in his mind, an image of what happened coming to the front as he edged towards the end of the bed. Wilbur. Wilbur had… Wilbur had… He nearly cried, slapping his hands on his mouth before a single whine could escape him. He didn’t need Wilbur to know he was awake. Despite his shaky legs, he slowly made his way to the door, feet scuffing against the stone floor. Every step he took made his heart pound with fear and adrenaline, scared that Wilbur would be at the door the moment Fundy opened it. Wilbur… He wasn’t well. Fundy knew that, and he needed to get back to Manburg before Wilbur did something drastic. His hand curled around the doorknob, sweat beading at his forehead as he slowly turned the handle. Please don’t let Wilbur be there. Please don’t let Wilbur be there. Please don’t let Wilbur be there.  _ Please _ ―

He pulled the door open just an inch, enough to let him see beyond the confines of his room. He glanced up and down the long hall, gnarled shadows dancing on the ravine walls as soft whispers reached his ears. They sounded as if they were coming from above. He opened the door until there was enough space for him to slip through. He kept low to the ground, ears at alert as he strained to hear the conversation going on. He crawled towards one of the exits, knowing that there were stairs that would lead him to the forest. If a chase were to commence, he might be able to lose them through the thick foliage. A cold fear settled in his chest as he realized he’d have to crawl further into the ravine… as the exit was right below where they were having their meeting.

“You have it all set up?” He nearly tripped on his own two feet, his heart hammering painfully in his chest as a familiar voice reached his ears.  _ Dream _ . Why the fuck… Why the  _ fuck _ was his  _ fiancé _ here? He shook his head, crawling forward despite the ache in his chest. “What about Fundy?”

“Oh, you will get what you want, Dream. Come the morning of the festival, L’Manburg will be nothing more than a crater of old memories and dreams.”  _ Wilbur _ . Fundy wished he could growl, choosing to bite the inside of his cheek instead as his fingertips grazed the wall. The exit was a few feet away. He was a few seconds away from freedom. “As for my son, he’s in his room. Poor thing needed his sleep. It was a mistake to leave him in L’Manburg with that… with that tyrant.”

“Schlatt has sought out more land, a clear violation of our agreement. I only hope you keep your end of the bargain, Soot. You know what I do to double-crossers.” Fundy raised a brow at that. As far as he knew, no one had ever dared to stab Dream in the back. Who in their right mind would go against Dream in such a manner? “And, good. I’m pleased to know he’s in your capable hands. I’d rather Fundy be here than in Manburg… not with what is to come. Do keep him safe, Soot.”

“I think I can protect my own son, green boi. Have a bit of respect. I am your future father-in-law, after all.” Silence followed after. Fundy took a breath, expecting an outburst or a shouting spat from either of the two men, yet only amused laughter echoed down the chamber. Fundy shivered, the sound grating against his ear. He had never told Wilbur about Dream. How could he? Yet here was his dad…  _ jesting _ about in-law jokes with the man he once called a dictator. In another world, he wished his dad would have been this accepting. “Now, regarding our plans for the festival?”

"Tubbo and Fundy are in charge of the decorations… and from my scheduled walk around Manburg I believe they're finished with the preparations." There was a long pause, as if Dream was thinking through his next words. Fundy bit his bottom lip, his heart aching at the thought that Dream had been around Manburg without Fundy even noticing. "However, the festival might be postponed on accounts of… Fundy's disappearance, but I'm sure you wouldn't mind celebrating a little early. Their festival may be delayed but that doesn't mean we don't get to have our fun."

"As dramatic as it would have been to set the explosives off at the festival, we'll have to make do with a random day instead. If I could make his death as painful and slow as possible I would. But I wouldn't wish to drag myself down to his deplorable level." Wilbur let out a dark and mirthless chuckle, one that made Fundy nearly trip on a misplaced pebble. He'd never heard his dad sound like that… this wasn't his dad. This was a pitiful man driven to insanity. Fundy sniffled the sobs that threatened to escape his lips. His dad was  _ dead _ … has been for years... and he never got to say goodbye. "Good if he dies trapped under the rubble. Someone like Schlatt doesn't deserve a memorable or quick death. Let him suffer alone. Let him feel what I felt when he exiled me from my own dam country. That bastard."

Fundy shook his head at that deceitful slander. Wilbur wasn’t in the right mind and even if he was, he wouldn’t hesitate those very same words. He didn’t know Wilbur’s history with Schlatt, but it must’ve been terrible enough for him to keep a decade’s old grudge. That didn’t matter though.

Because people _ change _ . Wilbur had been hostile the day Schlatt had returned to L’Manburg. Fundy didn’t know their past nor did he care to learn it. He neared the exit, Wilbur’s threatening words echoing in his head as he held onto the wall’s ledge. It had felt final, like a sweet symphony come to an end. Crater…  _ crater _ … Fundy shivered, pulling himself up on his feet as he looked up at the spiraling stairwell. He needed to get back to Manburg, needed to warn Schlatt of the impending danger. He paused, one foot resting on the bottom step as he waited for them to continue their conversation. Wilbur didn’t know he was awake, and neither did Dream. He could gather intel while they were occupied in their spiel of plans. He crouched, the darkness of the staircase concealing him from any prying gaze. He only hoped Tommy wouldn’t appear out of nowhere.

“I placed a few bits of TNT underneath the stage, Schlatt won’t make it out of this alive. I’ll make sure of it. Even if I have to hunt the bastard down myself, if he ever does survive the initial blast. Then… then… there’ll be no more wars. I’ll take my family and leave the SMP forever.” Nausea clawed at the back of Fundy’s throat. He didn’t want Schlatt to die… and Dre did Wilbur not care about the citizens that he would be sacrificing in his quest for destruction? Wilbur had fought for L'Manburg’s independence and he was about to throw all his sacrifices away. Fundy gripped the collar of his suit shirt. Wilbur needed help. “And… you’ll whisk Tubbo away before the explosion – the real celebration – begins?”

“You have my word, Wilbur.” There was a mischievous tone in Dream’s voice, one that made Fundy’s heart race with fondness.  _ No _ . He can’t do this right now. “When have I ever lied to you?”

"I suggest you don't start asking questions you don't want answers too, Dream." It was a playful tone, one made between friends as if Wilbur was merely jesting. Fundy nearly died as he heard the soft wheezing. Dream was fucking  _ laughing _ . Oh, this was so fucked. It was the last confirmation for him. Dream was really doing this. He wasn't messing around with Wilbur anymore. They… they fucking teamed up. They were being  _ serious _ .

"Just be prepared for the following days, Soot. I'd rather not have any more delays… we nearly got sidetracked by those… friends of yours." Fundy shivered where he was, his throat tightening as he heard the malice within Dream's voice. Friends… what friends? Fundy wracked through his still muddled mind, wondering what Dream meant by that. A condescending tsk followed after Dream's warning, an indignant tone that his father used to do to him each time Fundy tried to best him in a battle of words. Wilbur was stubborn when he wanted to be, even more so in a confrontational conversation. Fundy pressed himself closer to the damp wall, his ears straining to hear the next few words that Dream was uttering… it was almost as if he was getting farther away… Dream's next few words sent violent tremors through his body. No. No. No.  _ Fuck no _ . "You can deal with the false king whichever way you like. I expected their betrayal… couldn't exactly live with the guilt of what they'd done in the past. They're in your hands now. Deal with them as you see fit."

Fundy had heard enough. He turned to race up the stairs, slamming into a warm body before he could take a single step up. He screamed, grabbing the wall as his gaze darted up to look at ruby red eyes. A familiar face peered down at him through the shadows. His knees suddenly felt week.

“FUNDY?!!”

_ Shit _ . Wilbur had heard him. He darted into the small space between his uncle and the wall, scrambling up the uneven steps as echoing footsteps reverberated through the hollow space. His heart burned in his chest as a part of him waited for the inevitable hand to pull him back. He tripped onto flat ground, dirt staining his once pristine suit as he raced towards the wooden door. He nearly tore the door off its hinges as he pulled it back open, rushing out into the welcoming embrace of the forest. Though his eyes needed a few seconds to adjust to the blinding darkness, he knew he didn’t have that precious time to waste. He ran into the forest, low-hanging branches slapping him across the cheek as he weaved through the shrubbery. His ears twitched erratically at the top of his head, listening to the damning cacophony of footsteps chasing after him. He only hoped they weren’t as well versed in the forest as he was. It was his only advantage against his three pursuers.

Fundy was no fool though, his mind was still sluggish, only awakened by the rush of adrenaline that rushed through his veins. He couldn't stop running until he reached the safety of Manburg, not until he was in Schlatt's office babbling off Pogtopia's plans to his president. It would be painful, selling out his own father, but lives were on the stake and Wilbur clearly needed help. Fundy had to make it home. He would deal with the repercussions at a later date. For now… he needed to run.

The noise faded away, leaving him within a desolate forest. Fundy froze, stopping in his tracks as he turned around in a hurry. All that met him were the shadows of the night, pale moonlight filtering through the trees, casting the ground with specks of silver light. They were gone… which meant they were planning something. His ears twitched, a distinct whisper of noise catching his attention. He darted to his left, leaves rustling above him.  _ Dream _ . Dream was in the trees.  _ Fuck _ . He didn’t know where Technoblade and Wilbur were, but they couldn’t have strayed far. Fundy only hoped he wasn’t heading into a trap. He had to get out of this. He needed to warn everyone.

He caught a sliver of pink in the distance and quickly changed directions, scrambling to move away from Technoblade's path. Fundy did not wish to be captured by Technoblade. He could struggle his way out of Dream or Wilbur's hold. But Technoblade? He'd be dead the moment Technoblade so much as caught him. His eyes darted around, taking in every looming piece of shrubbery that entered his periphery. Wilbur would be difficult to spot in the darkness, he could be hiding behind a tree for goodness' sake! Fundy shook his head, forcing his legs to continue running through the dense shrubbery of the forest. He couldn't get caught. People would die if he didn't make it back. His heart burned at the thought of Schlatt or Quackity dying because of his currently unstable dad, at the thought of them being trapped under rubble, screaming for a savior that would never come. Wilbur would willingly sacrifice his citizens' lives for whatever deal he had made with Dream, but Fundy didn't sign up for this. He had to warn them. He  _ needed _ to save them. 

“Fundy, it’s okay! You’re okay! You’ll be safe this way. Just trust us.”

He yelped, slamming into a netherite-armored chest, a warm hand snaking to hold his back. Fundy refused to melt into that warm touch. He growled, trying to push past his fiance’s hold.

The blonde tried to hold onto him, struggling as Fundy tried to claw his way out of his fiance's grip. Fundy blinked back the tears in his eyes, recalling those days where he would bump right into Dream and Dream would hold him with such love and affection. Now… now he couldn't wait to rip himself away from that confining hold. He kicked at unprotected skin, Dream letting out a groan as Fundy jabbed an elbow to his side. The blonde's grasp loosened and Fundy made quick work of getting out of there… knocking Dream back with his hands as if that would make him feel slightly better at having been betrayed by  _ his own damn fianc _ é.

"Fundy, please! Stop running away!"

The blonde let out a huff, toppling to the ground as Fundy rushed past him. Dream was in on this. He was the  _ puppet master _ in this deceitful play of a story. Fundy had no intention of being a stringed doll for his amusement. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes as he stumbled into the forest’s darkness. The masked man hadn’t pursued him… at least not directly. The forest had fallen into an eerie stillness, his harsh breathing the only abnormal sound that reached his ears.

It was  _ terrifying _ . He was being chased down by two people who chased down people as a  _ hobby _ and his currently unhinged dad who would probably make sure Fundy never took another step within Manburg even if he had to take one of Fundy's two remaining lives. Fundy swallowed the bitter nausea that climbed its way to his throat at the thought of dying here… He wouldn't respawn back in Manburg. He'd wake up at Pogtopia, and Fundy knew Wilbur wasn't going to let him leave again. He shivered, the ends of his tail bristling as he quickened the pace of his steps. He was  _ fucked _ either way. The only option was to make it home before any of them caught him. He can't be caught. He just  _ can't _ .

Leaves crunched beneath his steps, a familiar dirt path appearing within his vision. Manburg was close. He was nearly home. Just a few more minutes of agony. He needed to get back. He had to.

Pain bloomed on his shoulder, warmth flooding down his arm as he collapsed onto the unforgiving ground. A pained whine escaped his lips as he forced himself to look at the damage. An arrow had pierced through his skin, blood seeping past his suit jacket as he tried to pull himself up. Fundy saw a silhouette amongst the trees, apologetic green eyes staring down at him as if Dream hadn’t just shot him with an arrow. He pulled himself to his knees, struggling to stand as a wave of nausea and sickness climbed up his throat. He peered at his shoulder, noticing the horrible tinge of dark purple on the arrow’s edge. He scrambled forward and forced himself to run on slowly numbing legs. He can’t go back. He  _ can’t _ be dragged back. “HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!”

He heard the heavy footsteps behind him, muffled only by the grass. He forced himself forward with each step their captor took, hoping that someone would come strolling by at any second. "PLEASE HELP!!! PLEASE!!!"

All that greeted him were the crickets of the night. He fell at the forest’s edge, his arm outstretched as he gazed longingly at the fences that led to Manburg. He had been so close. He opened his mouth to scream, but a hand gripped his ankle, pulling him away from the haven of home. His fingers gripped at the soil, digging into the cold earth as he was dragged into the forest. He began to thrash in his captor’s grip, guttural screams ripping through his throat as the tops of the trees blocked his view of the sky. He kicked at the arm that held him by the foot, hoping that it would be enough for them to at least let go of him. He heard a grunt, satisfaction curling in his chest at having done something. He knew it was futile in the end, but damn it, he was not going willingly. If he had the upper body strength, he would have lunged and bit at the hand that held him. It would do nothing but agitate the hunter, but Fundy didn’t exactly give a  _ fuck _ about how they felt.

After a few minutes of ceaseless struggling, Fundy fell into numbness. His heart ached to fight, to claw and bite his way out of the trap he had fallen into… but his bones ached with exhaustion. His mind had frozen over with mist, the poison circulating through every pore of his body. The tips of his fingers had grown cold, calming down as they finally relaxed, releasing their unrelenting grip from the ground. His eyes drooped despite himself, the claws of slumber gripping his soul as it threatened to plunge him into its eternal grasp. What was he fighting for exactly? Where was he?

The hand disappeared, leaving him to lie on the ground. He blinked wearily at the silhouettes above him, groaning as a bout of dizziness rippled through his body. He turned his head to the side, dark spots dancing across his vision. A long coat appeared in front of him as a familiar pair of boots paused beside him. He felt a hand on his head, ruffling his hair a bit in some semblance of comfort.

"There you go, Fundy… Just calm down, son. It's alright. Dad's here."

Hushed whispers reached his ears, a discussion lost to the wind as he let himself fall deeper into unconsciousness. A part of him desperately held onto the physical realm, pushing past the ache of sleep as he strained to keep his dwindling bearings. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him up from the ground and into a warm chest. Through the haze in his mind, he curled closer into the hold, a low chuckle reaching his ears as calloused fingertips patted his cold cheek. He felt safe.

Wilbur was humming underneath his breath, making it hard to hear as his ears tried to focus on that sound. It reminded Fundy of an old lullaby his father used to sing, back when his mother was still alive and L'Manburg was but a small cabin near a salmon river. His father was a musician and a fisherman, his mother being a singer and a seamstress that ran away from the Essempy. Fundy's eyes fluttered, a part of him struggling to hold on. An urgent nagging was begging him to stand, to scream out for help. But he didn't understand why he'd do that. He was safe. His dad was holding him close to his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head as he used to do when Fundy was younger. Wilbur hadn't had the time to sing him to sleep ever since the war started, but he had his dad right now. His dad was holding him again and protecting him from the cruelty of the world. Why shouldn't he be allowed to cherish that? Fundy missed this. He missed his dad. Wilbur wasn't much of a dad to him during the war, but he was here now and that was all that mattered… right? He nuzzled closer to his dad's embrace, earning an amused and delighted chuckle from the man that currently held onto him as if he were a delicate piece of glass. As his father's humming began to cease, he finally had the chance to listen to the conservation.

He tried to hold on to their words.

“Let’s just get you home, okay Fundy?”  _ Wilbur _ .

“Be glad I stumbled across him when I did.”  _ Technoblade _ .

“What ever shall we do without you, Blade?”  _ Dream… in all his sarcastic glory _ .

“Both of you be quiet. Fundy needs his sleep.”  _ Wilbur _ .

“Yeah… My fiancé needs his sleep.”  _ Dream _ .

“Some fiancé you are. Shooting him with an arrow. Romantic.”  _ Technoblade… with slight fury _ .

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Hm…” Fundy groaned, his eyes shutting close.

And for the second time that day, he fell into darkness.


	3. Bitter Almonds and Sweet Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is... dark. As hell. BEWARE. Also, this is the end... so yeah...
> 
> I'M SORRY ERET ;-; forgive me

He slowly came to. A piercing whine escaping his lips as he felt the sharp bite of rope against his wrists. His head pounded with ache and agony, the poison still clinging to his veins as he forced his eyes to stutter open. A bleak and encompassing darkness coated the room before him, his own labored breathing echoing against the stone walls as he strained against the chair he had been strapped to. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he glanced down at himself. His ankles and wrist were tied securely to a chair, one that looked agonizingly new instead of Pogtopia's usual rotting and old seats. His ears twitched at the top of his head as he heard the telltale sign of muffled breathing and a pained groan. He wasn't alone. He shifted in his seat, gold-flecked brown eyes scouring through the shadows as he waited for a figure to emerge. He sniffed at the air, the thick scent of dust circling up his nose, causing him to let out a sneeze. The air seemed to still around him. His heart froze up as his eyes finally adjusted, a familiar face rising up from the shadows. Oh, fuck.

He peered into the darkness, familiar strands of blonde hair with gray-dyed hair tips peeking from the shadows. His heart stuttered to a stop as Niki's unconscious form finally registered in his mind. Her clothes were disheveled, caked with mud and grass as if she had been through a tousle that had rendered her wrestling against her captor on the ground. There small cuts and bruises on her pale skin, though not as if they were meant to be there but as if they were gained from bumping into pebbles and branches. She looked relatively unharmed… if it weren't for the dark red liquid that ran down the side of her head. She had been knocked unconscious, but she looked fine. She was tied to a chair like him, her head lolling to the side as she let out a stuttering breath. Guilt crawled up his throat as he realized one crucial detail he had ignored just a few days ago, back when he was in Manburg and in too much of a frenzy to notice where Niki had gone off to.

"Niki! Niki! NIKI! Niki, please, you need to wake up!"

She let out a soft groan, twisting a bit in her seat but her eyes didn't flutter open at Fundy's voice. He let out a frustrated sigh, knowing that they wouldn't be in this mess if he had just noticed her absence. Fundy felt tears bite at the corners of his eyes, remembering how he had tried to visit Niki a few weeks prior and simply decided to ignore the red flags that flashed in his mind the moment he saw her closed and empty bakery.

"Niki, please. You have to wake up." He wished he could move a bit closer, hoping that if he managed to get close enough he'd be able to rouse her awake. He looked at the chair, wincing as he realized it wouldn't be easy to move towards Niki. The chair was made of heavy dark oak, pristinely crafted that it would take at least an hour for him to move. "NIKI!"

Not even a single exhausted groan or a muttered complaint. She was out cold.

“ _Fuck_.” Fundy tried to quell the rising panic in his chest. He had to get out of this. He _had_ to.

The ropes had been tied by a professional, his hands barely moving as he tried to claw his way to escape. Fundy took a gulp of air, coughing and sneezing at the dusty air. He was still underground. He shuddered at the thought, even if he were to scream, no one would come to his aide. He glanced down at his legs, feeling the rough texture keeping them in place against the chair’s wooden legs. A small hiss slipped past his lips, a growl ripping through his throat.

“OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, WILBUR!” It was a pointless endeavor, but even as the ropes began to cut into his skin, Fundy couldn’t bring himself to just give up. Wilbur’s nightly conversation with Dream still rang in his ears, grating on his nerves as blood began to pool down the sides of his wrist, staining the rope with the color of rust. His mind was a haze of emotions, instincts screaming at him to claw and scratch his way to freedom while his aching head begged him to calm down. His stomach felt queasy, hints of poison still coursing through his veins as a wave of nausea hit him. He settled back down for the moment, feeling the warmth of blood in his hands as his head lolled to lean against the back of the chair. He was hungry. He was exhausted. He felt _sick_. Fundy blinked back the tears in his eyes, “Wil… you can’t do this. Please… dad, please…”

He was met with silence. Fundy bit back another bout of screaming. He couldn’t afford to lose his voice if he was given the chance of escape. He glanced down, realizing that they didn’t tie him to the back of his chair, only his wrists and ankles. Hope bloomed in his chest as he leaned down, biting down on the rope that held his right hand captive. The stench of fresh blood and the taste of metal on his tongue did nothing to quench the dizziness he felt, but those were a small price to pay for possible freedom. The cord began to fry as he continued to bite down, his canines slicing through the thick length of rope in a matter of seconds. A small whimper escaped him, his bleeding wrist stinging even as he tried to untangle his other hand. They were difficult to get out of. He worried about which one of the three had learned to tie such complicated knots.

His ears twitched, the sharp clang of metal piercing the silence as if a door was being pried open nearby. Fundy fell limp, calming his erratically beating heart and closing his eyes as the thump of footsteps moved closer. Sweat slid down the back of his neck, his tail bristling with fear. There was someone behind him. He could hear their breathing, feel their eyes looking down at him. He nearly jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder, a presence leaning near his face as he kept still.

“Fundy, I’m not in the mood for your little games. I know you’re awake.” He refused to look, Wilbur’s voice sending goosebumps down his skin. He heard the flutter of cloth, the shuffle of movement until he felt fingers poking at his injured wrist. He held back the whine in his throat, his eyes fluttering open to finally meet Wilbur’s dark brown eyes. Wilbur gave him a soft smile, one he wished wasn’t so caring as Wilbur raised his right hand, inspecting the injured wrist with a worry that Fundy wished could just disappear. He’d rather face a disappointed and hateful Wilbur than _this monster_ who’s taken his dad’s skin. “Oh, my poor son. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

“Hm, last I checked I was still tied up.” Fundy watched as Wilbur produced another piece of rope from within his trenchcoat, feeling helpless as his hand was tied back onto the chair’s arm. He didn’t quite like that his mind was thinking of two thoughts. One, did Wilbur _always_ carry rope on his person and if so why? And two, where the _fuck_ did Wilbur learn how to _tie_ someone up? “Wilbur, you… you’re _fucked_ up. You even brought Niki into this! What the actual _fuck_ , Wil?”

Fundy didn’t like the smug grin on Wilbur’s face. Wilbur stood up, glancing at his handiwork once before turning his gaze to Fundy. He shuddered, regret flooding his system as he realized he had Wilbur’s full undivided attention. “Aww, there’s no need to worry. Everything’s fine!”

“Wil… You’re not sane, Wilbur. Just let me go and I promise we’ll find a way to fix一”

“Fix what?” He growled, fingers pinching his cheeks as a Wilbur’s eyes glazed over, a toothy grin on the man’s face. Fundy wished Wilbur had just killed him, pegged him as a traitor and executed him on the spot. “I’m perfectly fine! Cause you know, I… I… I realized something.”

“Realized what, Wilbur?” Fundy frowned as the man let out a mournful and demented laugh, a horrid noise that sounded as if Wilbur was teetering on the edge. The fox hybrid watched as the man moved away, those suffocating fingers making their way to pet his hair and ears as Wilbur settled to a stand behind Fundy’s chair. The gesture was meant to calm him down, meant to put him at ease… Wilbur had done it many times when he was a kid… When Fundy was a kid…

_‘His dad always had dark eyes. The villagers mocked his dad for them when they knew he couldn’t hear, giving him gruesome monikers such as ‘devil spawn’ or ‘Death’s child’. As a kid, Fundy had no clue what those words meant. Had no understanding of why his dad would freeze each time Wilbur asked him what they’d meant, laughing it off before ignoring him completely._

_This was before L’Manburg… before the war. Fundy could barely remember what had caused it, why he had been screaming and wailing on the ground as a group of kids mercilessly taunted him for being a ‘freak’. Perhaps it had been because he wasn’t really human, not like the others. Normal human kids didn’t have fox ears or a tail. Perhaps it was because of his dad who the villagers gossipped and slandered for simply existing. Fundy couldn’t remember much, but he remembered he was on the ground, crying as he felt cruel hands tugging painfully at his ears. Someone was kicking him, a heavy foot stomping on his tail. It felt as if he was dying._

_There was the sound of hurried footsteps. Then he heard yelling. The other kids were nervously laughing, making hesitant jeers then awkwardly giggling at something Fundy couldn’t quite see through the tears in his eyes. Then came the scream. A bloodcurdling cry ripping through the air as a horrendous thud echoed after. The kids were gone, scrambling away as they left Fundy to face whatever monster had attacked them. Fundy could only hope that it would be a quick death._

_“Fundy? FUNDY! Oh my gods一” That was his dad’s voice. He had been so happy, yipping weakly as Wilbur had gathered him in his arms. “It’s going to be okay. You’re okay! Oh, gods一”_

_Wilbur had pressed a gentle hand to the back of his head, his dad’s beating heart erratic against Fundy’s ears as Wilbur looked over at him. There was something dark in his dad’s eyes that day - or maybe they were always that dark - as Wilbur held him close, whispering meaningless phrases in his ear. Something felt off, a tinge in the air that he couldn’t get a grasp of. Still, Fundy didn’t have the time to dwell on that. His dad was there, holding him. He was safe! The safest place in the world was with his dad. What could possibly be wrong? He had let out a whimper as Wilbur tried to pet his tail, burrowing his face into the crook of his dad’s neck. Wilbur had shakily stood up, holding him in his arms as if he was something precious that Wilbur couldn’t ever lose._

_“Shhh, let’s get you home, okay? It’s okay. Papa’s here.” Wilbur had kept his head pressed against as they walked away, enough so that Fundy could barely see past his dad’s shoulders._

_He remembers what he saw. Remembered what he had long tucked away to the back of his mind._

_There was a limp form on the ground - a body. Too quiet to be alive. Wilbur had shushed him, moving briskly away from the scene as if he didn’t want Fundy to see what his dad had done._

_Fundy remembers the crimson, the sword jutting out from that too frail body as streams of blood tainted and scoured the soil beneath. He couldn’t remember back then - probably didn’t want to remember. But Fundy remembers now. He remembers what Wilbur had done to his tormentor._

_Wilbur had spent half his time that day nursing Fundy back to health, and the other half packing up. Fundy had asked him if they were leaving… Wilbur didn’t so much as give him an answer._

_He had tried to get out of bed to help but Wilbur had placed him back on, saying that it wasn’t Fundy’s concern. Wilbur had made him drink a regeneration potion… then Fundy had fallen asleep. By the time he woke up, he was on a boat, the stars twinkling in the night sky as Wilbur rowed them away from the place they’d once called home. Wilbur had caught him awake, chuckling as he pulled Fundy onto his lap and tried to gently coax him back to sleep. It took Wilbur nearly an hour to get him back to sleep, all that time spent avoiding Fundy’s question of why they were leaving. Wilbur had shushed him, a tired and indecipherable look in his eyes as he begged Fundy to go to sleep. He never got an answer, not then… and Fundy supposes, not ever.’_

“I realized… L’Manburg, _my_ L’Manburg, it’s gone! It’s _fucking_ gone, Fundy! It was gone the moment Eret chose to betray us. We haven’t been fighting for L’Manburg this whole time, we’ve been fighting for a husk, a _husk_ , Fundy.” It frightened him, to hear such words out of his da一 Wilbur’s mouth. The man’s hands were still in his hair, gentle and kind as though Wilbur was calm even as his words sounded like that of a maniac’s. Fundy shivered, realizing deep down that maybe this Wilbur was still the same old Wilbur who had raised him. “We’ve been fighting for nothing. L’Manburg is gone, Fundy. It’s dead and I’ve failed. There’s nothing left to save there.”

“Wilbur, you’re delusional.” It was wrong to say, but Fundy was tired and he was not about to worry about speaking lightly to a man who was speaking nonsense. Fundy tried to lean away from those prying fingers, hoping Wilbur would just leave. “Manbu一 L’Manburg is still there.”

“You don’t get it, Fundy! But, you know what? That’s okay! I perfectly understand! Tommy didn’t get it either, you know?” Wilbur had thankfully moved on, footsteps echoing as Wilbur began to pace through the room. “You know, I-I-I get why you both don’t understand. Tommy’s finding for a country that doesn’t exist and you’ve… you’ve been brainwashed by Schlatt一”

“Oh, because I’m the crazy one. Of course I am!” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, leaning back against his seat as he tried to tune out Wilbur’s ramblings. He envied Niki who hadn’t moved an inch since Wilbur had come in, too out of it to even hear Wilbur’s senseless spoutings. His wrist stung as he tried to move his hands, refusing to let out a hiss as he knew that would catch Wilbur’s attention. “Wilbur, do you even hear yourself right now? Look, I don’t agree with this whole revolution thing. I’m done with _fucking_ revolutions. But blowing up the country一”

“It’s perfectly logical! We’re getting rid of a tyrant and no one has to fight for a nation that doesn’t exist anymore!” His tone was absolutely giddy and final, like a child done with playing with their toy soldiers. “We can all move on! Forget L’Manburg, we could go back home!”

“L’Manburg is my home! The land is my home. It is our home!” Fundy wished he could see where Wilbur was, wondering if he tried hard enough he might be able to reach out, bring back the man who was his dad. His _real_ dad. He felt the chill of tears against his cheeks, his wounds stinging as he tried to hold back the pain. Fundy didn’t know what happened, what those two years had done to his dad’s already fractured psyche, but he couldn’t just sit there and watch the destruction. He couldn’t watch Wilbur destroy himself, not when they could still try. “Dad… Let me go. We can fix this. I promise, we can fix this. You have to let me go. I won’t run. I promise.”

A silence followed after, the air tense as he waited for Wilbur’s answer. The man had stopped pacing, leaving Fundy unaware of where Wilbur was in the room. Fundy tried to focus on Niki, stared at her unconscious face as to keep himself calm. Niki, his best friend who he hadn’t even noticed was missing. It felt wrong to think, but he was glad that she was there with him. He wasn’t alone. And, really - if he was right - Wilbur wouldn’t hurt him… Wilbur wouldn’t hurt him right? Fundy shivered despite himself. Injury did not always equal to death and is his wrists and the pain on his shoulder were any answer, Wilbur wouldn’t mind if Fundy got hurt, so long as he didn’t die then everything was perfectly一 He nearly screamed as a hand clamped over his shoulder, Wilbur kneeling by his side with an eerie blank look on his face. “It _was_ our home.”

Wilbur sighed, reaching out to brush a thumb against Fundy’s cheek. Fundy tried to move away but Wilbur only followed, wiping away his tears as a soft smile found its way to the man’s lips. Fundy regrets it, he’d rather have blank-faced Wilbur than… _that_. Wilbur wasn’t staring at him, not really, a misty look in the man’s eyes. Fundy couldn’t do anything but just sit there, trying his best not to lean into the calloused hand that cupped his cheek. It would be easy to forget, too easy to simply lean in and pretend he was safe. But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Wilbur eventually pulled away, and Fundy hated how he had whimpered as soon as his da一 Wilbur moved his hand. Wilbur glanced up towards the ceiling as clarity flooded into those dark brown eyes.

“I know you don’t understand, not when you’re not in the right state of mind. You’re confused. You’re scared. I left you alone. You must have been so scared, so terrified… I know you didn’t mean to tear down the walls, the walls I built for _you_ , and burn the flag. You were just trying to survive under that tyrant’s rule. I mean, I resented you for it! Resented you until I realized that you must have been so terrified!” Wilbur had wrapped an arm around his shoulders, standing as if he wanted to hold him closer. Fundy bit back a growl. He didn’t want Wilbur near him, not when he was saying such lies as if Fundy was the delusional one and not Wilbur. “You’ve even stopped calling me dad. Whatever happened to _my_ son, _my_ little champion? I don’t know how you survived those two years without me, but I’m here now! And I’m not leaving you again!”

Wilbur buried his face in Fundy’s hair, muttering a string of apologies that Fundy elected to ignore. There wasn’t anything Wilbur could say that would make it alright. Fundy bit the inside of his cheek, feeling Wilbur wrap him into an embrace. He kept his lips set into a thin line, refusing to give Wilbur a smile or scowl. “I’m making it right. I’ve begun to make things right.”

Fundy didn’t have the time to ask Wilbur what he’d meant by that when he felt something warm land against his cheek. Wilbur wasn’t crying, he knew that… he couldn’t feel tears against his hair. Shakily, Fundy turned to look up, his heart hammering wildly inside his chest. His eyes widened, the breath knocked from his lungs. No. No. Oh gods… NO! He screamed.

“Eret… ERET! OH MY GODS一 ERET!”

“Shhhh… It’s okay, Fundy! It’s okay!” There were hands on the side of his face, Wilbur trying to pry his gaze away, but he’d seen enough. He was still screaming, his throat burning as the image of Eret was burned into his mind. The pained groan he’d heard when he’d first woken up… Oh gods, Eret had been there the whole time. Fundy couldn’t get rid of the image, of Eret hanging from the ceiling as chains pierced through their skin. And their eyes… Oh gods, their eyes. Where blank white eyes should’ve been were two voids of black. Wilbur had… Wilbur had一

“WHY?! WHY? WHY WILBUR?!” He knew it was fueling Wilbur's delusions, knew Wilbur was looking at his thrashing and hysterical self with pity and worry, but Fundy couldn’t care. Not when Eret was… Eret was… He fell to a nervous lull, sobbing and shaking as Wilbur tried to console him, tried to soothe him as if Fundy was just having a nightmare. “Why, Wilbur? Why?”

“They’re alive. I may have gotten carried away, can’t help but hold a bit of a grudge…” How could he talk about it so calmly? Fundy could only cry. “Both of them were a bit too nosy, found the TNT before the real fun could begin so I had to make sure they both didn’t get in the way.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to kill them.” Fundy had no guarantee of what Wilbur might do. Niki might be safe. But, gods, Eret didn’t stand a chance against Wilbur. “Dad, please一”

“If they don’t get in the way.” Wilbur patted his head, a small smile on the man’s face, pleased that Fundy called him _‘dad’_. His ears perked up, the clang of metal echoing through the room as a door opened. Wilbur glanced up, his face turning to stone as he quickly stood up and moved away from Fundy. He heard the muffled steps of boots against stone, a poise in every step as though every move was calculated with preciseness. Fundy would know those footsteps anywhere, had gotten used to their sound so he could stop being surprised each time he felt a loving arm wrap around him. “What are you doing here, Dream? Our meeting is upstairs.”

“I heard the screaming.” Fundy could hardly be startled by that, everyone knew that Dream wasn’t quite… human. He could hear Wilbur hum beneath his breath, unbothered by the statement. “I wanted to see if Fundy was alright, and I brought him something he might like.”

Fundy held his breath, feeling his fiancé (gods, could Fundy even call him that anymore?) come to a stop beside him. He kept his gaze fixed on the wall. Wilbur’s betrayal had been a slap on the face, a pain that would bruise but fade with time. But Dream’s? The man he thought he could trust. The man he shared a _damn_ house with. The man he had been set to marry. Oh, Dream’s betrayal was a stab to the heart, a non-fatal wound that he would somehow survive from but feel a piece of him die each time he saw the scar. He could only be grateful that Dream didn’t try anything, didn’t put a hand on his shoulder or kissed his cheek. Fundy refused to look as Dream placed something on his lap, refused to glance at the man even as Dream began to walk away.

“We’ll be back. Try to get some rest. I’m sorry for the uncomfortable arrangements but I can’t have you running off again.” Wilbur came back to pat him on the head, pressing a kiss to his forehead before finally walking off. Fundy could only hope that Wilbur didn’t decide to stay and leave the destruction to Dream and Techno. Fundy couldn’t bear to spend another minute with Wilbur. “Try to sleep. I promise everything will be better in a few weeks. I love you, Funds.”

There was a harrowing silence, as if Wilbur expected him to respond. Fundy bit back the curse that was at the edge of his tongue. He heard Wilbur sigh, muttering something underneath his breath that Fundy was pretty sure was along the lines of _‘my son’s so far gone’_. Fundy wished he could just bash his head against the back of the chair… not that he’d get very far from doing so.

He waited until the door finally slammed shut, the clang signaling a finality… an end to an era, maybe. Fundy didn’t know. After a few seconds, he finally gained the courage to look down, eyes tearing up as he looked at what Dream had gifted him. Almond flowers… a… promise?

They were beautiful. Their gentle white petals sent a wave of calm over the panic in his heart. Still, even almonds could be poisonous, given the wrong one. Fundy began to cry.

Blood dripped onto the flowers’ white petals, staining them.

_If only poison wasn’t so lovely._

Then… would he have lived and been free?


	4. Author's Note

So... hi!

Well, this fic is over now and I guess, thanks for reading? XD So yeah...

Just to clarify, c!Wilbur is not in a good place in this fic and I of course do not condone such behavior and I am very well aware that c!Wilbur was not like this in canon. Let it also be known that this is a fic about the characters (if that wasn't obvious). So anyway, here's the prompt that made me do this fic because I really went and got dared by my friend to write this thing XD

The prompt (copypasted cause I ain't fixing this anymore than I've done in the past few weeks XD):

_'Just slightly after the day Fundy was recruited by Schlatt. Lets say Fundy still lived with Wilbur then. Wilbur spiraling into insanity will be sped up a bit. And that Dream and Fundy are engaged already. On the night when he visited his father for possibly the last time, Fundy felt woozy and fell unconscious immediately after dinner._

_When he came to he was in his bed and the door was slightly ajar. What he saw shocked him greatly, his father in his tattered coat while his fiancé in full battle gear, and another figure in the corner hidden in shadow, all there was was just a hint of red._

_They were talking over a table which held a map. It was a familiar map, he's seen it many times, L'Manburg. In an effort to listen closer, he tripped on one of the loose rocks on the floor and came crashing on to the door, slamming it shut._

_Before he could even get his bearings, he felt a shock of pain, and noticed that a part of an arrow head was sticking out of the door and into him. He pulled away and he looked at the blood drenched arrow head, crimson with his blood... and green? The next thing he knew it his head began to spin, and before he shut his eyes, a pair of familiar boots enters his vision. And the sound of cloth dragging on the floor._

_When comes to for the second time tonight... was it tonight? Was it day?... who knows. He is tied to a chair in a room that was dark. No light from anywhere._

_When his eyes started to adjust to the darkness. A sudden but bright light lights up in front of him. He squints his eyes, and there he is. Nikki. Unconscious and tied to a chair. No harm can be seen on her. Just her disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes._

_And the line of blood coming from her scalp. His hoarse voice tries to call her name. But a hand reaches over and wraps around his shoulder. He looked over and it was Wilbur._

_Same curly hair, same old beanie, the worn coat. But his eyes. Those weren't his fathers eyes. Or were they? He flashes back to a long forgotten memory when he was beaten for being a fox hybrid. He was near unconsciousness, then the next thing he knew a cry of pain rang out, and a gentle hand picked him up. He looked up and it was his father. But his eyes weren't right. Was it the light? Now, at this moment. Those eyes were back._

_And it wasn't a trick of the light. In fact, it felt more sinister. Wilbur smiled at Fundy, a smile that was always seen when he was a kid. But it wasn't the same anymore (Btw, Niki is there cuz she found the TNT)._

_As Wilbur talked about how hell get their home back, he noticed that the "water" dripping from the ceiling was red... he didn't want, he didn't need to, but Fundy looked up. Eret, hung upside down in chains, his glasses weren't there. And so weren't his eyes. Bile started to rise from his stomach when a door to the side opened up._

_It was dream. Fundy felt like there may be some hope to stop this insanity. But he just called to Wilbur. And walked in. Not eve a glance at his direction. The time when he was looked at, the eyes behind his mask was full of schandenfreud. He smiled and just placed a branch on his lap._

_With the little bit of light left in the room he noticed that there were gentle white flowers, with a light red core on the branch. Almond flowers... a promise? His blood drops onto the petals.'_

I... took creative liberties :/

Anyway... I have made some one-shots that occurs after this fic and I'll link them below. So... yeah hope you guys liked this story and now it's over... So yeah... bye!

Your Own Good/Fault - <https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/71222940>

Picture Perfect Family - <https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/71562951>

Your Delusion, His Cage - <https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/71632980>


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